


One More Jumper

by per_mare_ad_astra



Series: Shipmas 2018 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Shipmas, Shipmas 2018, Weasley Jumpers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 07:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16849960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/per_mare_ad_astra/pseuds/per_mare_ad_astra
Summary: “D’you like it?”“It is very lovely,” Fleur said, feeling the fabric. It wasn’t as exquisite as the clothes she bought in the boutiques of the Place Cachée, but it had a certain charm to it and seemed very warm. “But you look silly,” she added with a cheeky smile. And he did, in a rather endearing way: the jumper seemed toosoftfor Bill, especially if you took his fang earring into account. It wasn’t his style at all.“Do I?” he said, amused. “Ouch.”“I theenk,” she continued, running her fingers down his chest, “zat you would look better wizout it.”“Oh really?”“Mmhm.”“Well, if you insist…”





	One More Jumper

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 2 of LittleRose13's 12 Days of Shipmas! The prompt was “Mrs Weasley's Christmas jumpers” :)
> 
> This fic takes place during Order of the Phoenix.

_“I’ve got a cauldron full of hot, strong love_

_And it's bubbling for you!_

_Say_ Incendio _, but that spell's not hot_

_As my special witch’s brew…”_

Fleur shot a dark look at the radio on the kitchen counter. They were barely a week into December and she’d already heard that ridiculous song a dozen times too many. It seemed that England, in addition to terrible weather, had awful Christmas music.

She turned the radio off with an annoyed flick of her wand. The sound of music was quickly replaced by the soft _pat-pat-pat_ of raindrops hitting the roof. Wrapping the blanket she’d taken from the sofa tighter around herself, she grabbed her coffee mug and made her way over to the living room window.

The view of the Muggle street outside was depressingly grey.Rain was falling in sheets, and the poor souls who were unlucky enough to be out at that hour were walking briskly, their umbrellas a riot of colour that stood out against the dull tones of the surrounding buildings.

She took a sip of coffee and wished, not for the first time, that she hadn’t left France. She was relatively happy in London, but she couldn’t help thinking of Paris these days: she missed the ice rinks that she went to with Gabrielle nearly every day, the wizarding and _non-magique_ Christmas markets scattered throughout the city, the bright colours of the _feux follets_ that were used as Christmas lights in the Place Cachée…

Then again, she thought with an amused smile as she heard someone yawn and pad into the kitchen, there were certain things that made England worthwhile.

She didn’t turn around as Bill approached her spot by the window, but as soon as he wrapped his arms around her she leaned back against his chest and closed her eyes.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” he said sleepily, kissing her neck.

“ _Il n’y a rien de ‘bon’ dans ce jour,_ ” she muttered.

He laughed. “Someone woke up grumpy today.”

“ _Ouais_.”

She didn’t mind getting up early, but the short, grey days in this country were starting to weigh down on her. Her routine felt insipid. She enjoyed her job at Gringotts, but she also longed for her home—or for lazy mornings that she could spend in bed with Bill, not thinking about anything or anyone else. The holidays couldn’t come soon enough. With a sigh, she turned to face him, intending to kiss him properly and make their early morning at least somewhat worthwhile.

The sight that met her eyes, however, made her pause. And stare.

“Bill,” she said slowly, goggling at him. “What is _zat_?”

Her boyfriend was already dressed, which was unusual, but what made Fleur’s jaw drop was what he’d chosen to wear. It was a thick, clearly handmade woollen jumper in a light shade of blue that matched his eyes, and it had a pattern of dozens of falling snowflakes. Had she seen it in a shop she would have thought it pretty, but she was seeing it _on Bill_ , and it was so wildly different to the outfits he always wore that she couldn’t help feeling slightly horrified. The contrast between his usual leather robes and dragon hide boots and _this_ was jarring. 

And it suited him, of course, because Bill looked good regardless of what he wore—and especially when he wasn’t wearing anything at all—but she didn’t even know he owned something so… colourful.

“Hmm?” He glanced down. “Oh, this is one of Mum’s jumpers.”

There was a long silence in which Fleur tried to convince herself that she had misunderstood. English was a strange language, and its speakers seemed to delight in using nonsense expressions or skipping or shortening words so as to confuse foreigners. Normally she had little trouble following what Bill said, and he’d taught her plenty of slang in their lessons, but every now and then he spouted gibberish that she struggled to pick apart.

“It is one of your _mother’s_ jumpers?” she echoed, eyeing said garment warily and waiting for an explanation.

All she got was a blank look. “Yeah, ‘course it is, what’s the— _oh_.” Comprehension dawned in his eyes, and he looked stunned for a second before he threw his head back and gave a great roar of laughter. Fleur stared at him, wondering what was so funny.

“You thought… Oh, Merlin, _no_ ,” he managed to get out, still laughing. “The jumper is _mine_ , love. I just meant… Haven’t I told you about Weasley jumpers yet?”

She raised an eyebrow. “ _Évidemment_.”

“Right. Sorry, I probably should’ve mentioned that before… _Merlin_.” Bill shook his head, still grinning. Fleur found herself smiling back in spite of herself—Bill’s good humour was contagious. “Okay, let me get my coffee and I’ll explain everything, yeah?”

Kissing her gently on the forehead, he went over to the kitchen cupboard and started looking for a clean mug. Fleur waited for him on the sofa, and when he plopped down next to her—almost making them both spill their coffee—she moved so that she was half-sitting on his lap.

“So,” she prompted, playing with a strand of his hair. “What are zeese ‘Weasley jumpers’?”

“Right.” Bill shifted slightly so he could wrap an arm around her waist, carefully holding his mug with his other hand. It wasn’t a comfortable position, but he seemed to be perfectly content. “They’re like this big family tradition, yeah? Mum started making them when she was pretty young, around the time she started going to Hogwarts. She made a jumper for her parents and brothers every year. And then she started dating Dad, so he got jumpers too, and then they got married and _I_ came along, and so did Charlie, Percy…” He waved his hand. “And now pretty much everyone in the family gets one—I think the only one who doesn’t is our Great-Aunt Muriel, probably because she wouldn’t be caught dead in something that isn’t cashmere.”

Even though the amount of names was dizzying, Fleur nodded, trying to commit them to memory. She had most of his siblings figured out, but everyone else…

“Your family is very big,” she pointed out. “Is it not a lot of work?”

“Yeah, but Mum manages. She buys a ton of wool and starts knitting as soon as November’s over, and that’s all she does every evening. She turns on the radio and works away, and everyone else isn’t allowed to make a sound. I remember Fred and George fucked up once—they thought it’d be funny to let the gnomes play with some of the wool, the idiots—and I think it’s the only time they’ve ever been properly ashamed after being told off.”

Fleur let out a huff of laughter, and Bill grinned, his eyes sparkling the way they always did when he talked about his family. He could act as cool as he pleased, but he always melted at the mere mention of his siblings and could gush about them for hours. It was one of the things she loved most about him.

“So yeah, Weasley jumpers are sacred,” he went on. “Mum puts a lot of effort into them every year, she’s always coming up with new patterns. _This_ one,” he gestured towards it, “has snowflakes because Mum reckoned I missed the cold weather back when I was in Egypt. I didn’t.” Indeed, t he only person who complained about the cold more than her was Bill.  “D’you like it?” His tone was surprisingly hesitant.

“It is very lovely,” she said, feeling the fabric. It wasn’t as exquisite as the clothes she bought in the boutiques of the Place Cachée, but it had a certain charm to it and seemed very warm. “But you look silly,” she added with a cheeky smile. And he did, in a rather endearing way: the jumper seemed too _soft_ for Bill, especially if you took his fang earring into account. It wasn’t his style at all.

“Do I?” he said, amused. “ _Ouch_.”

“I theenk,” she continued, running her fingers down his chest, “zat you would look better wizout it.”

“Oh really?”

“Mmhm.”

“Well, if you insist…” She smirked as he took off the jumper, revealing his muscular chest—she could make out a few of his scars in the morning light, courtesy of traps left in the tombs he’d explored as a Curse-Breaker. However, her delight quickly turned to confusion as he offered the garment to her. “Go on, try it on.”

She stared at it, perplexed. It was so big she could probably fit Gabrielle in there too. “You want me to _wear_ it?”

“Yeah, just to see what it looks like on you.”

“Zis is revenge, yes? For saying you look silly in it? Now I ‘ave to look silly too?”

“As if you’re capable of looking silly in anything, _ma_ _cerise_ ,” he said with exaggerated sweetness.

Fleur snorted. ‘Cerise’ had started out as a joke between them: Bill had attempted to be romantic and thoughtful and call her his _chérie_ , his darling, but his pronunciation had been so horrendously English that it had sounded more like ‘cherry’. She’d laughed so hard she’d almost cried. “Zat is what I am to you?” she’d gasped out between fits of giggles. “Your cherry? Your _cerise_?” He’d shut her up with a kiss, and she’d been more than happy to return it, but she hadn’t let him forget his mistake. As revenge, he’d ended up adopting it.

“Very well,” she said with dignity. She stood up and began to unbutton her shirt, feeling a surge of satisfaction as Bill set his mug on the coffee table and sat back to enjoy the view, a lazy smile on his lips.

She liked the way he looked at her. Men were drawn to her beauty and struggled to keep their eyes off it, and she’d grown used to the stares that followed her everywhere she went. But they focused only on the surface: they took in the silver glow of her hair, the softness of her lips, the captivating shade of blue of her eyes, but they didn’t see the fire and strength underneath it all.

Bill was different. He’d been stunned by her good looks at first, of course, but he’d soon looked beyond that—she would have quickly lost interest in him otherwise. He knew what lay behind her beautiful armour. She felt _seen_ by him.

And _Flamel_ , she was dying to kiss him right now.

“Should I take zis off too?” she said innocently, playing with her bra strap.

Bill tilted his head to the side, giving her that intense, playful look that he knew drove her mad. “Do you want us to be late for work, _mademoiselle_ Delacour? How irresponsible of you.”

“Per’aps I do not want us to _go_ to work.”

“Look at you, seducing the hard-working Curse-Breakers of Gringotts.” His grin was positively wolfish now. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

“ _Ouais_.” She pinched her shirt between thumb and forefinger and let it drop to the floor, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

He returned her stare, and she returned his smile. The air between them grew thick with tension as they slowly took each other in, wanting, waiting. This was a game they liked to play, and the best thing about it was that there was no loser. Her heart starting to race, she wondered which of them would pounce first this time.

In the end it was Bill who moved first, but not in the way she would have preferred.

With a loud groan, he let his head fall back against the sofa and stared determinedly up at the ceiling. “You have no idea how tempted I am right now, love,” he said, sounding tortured, “but I really do have to work today.”

A few choice French words lingered on the tip of her tongue, eager to come out, but she restrained herself.

Ridiculous boy with his ridiculous and endearing sense of responsibility. She loved him too much.

“You are very boring,” she informed him, snatching the jumper off his hands with a huff. Her heart was still pounding, her body still tingling with warmth.

“And you’re the opposite of boring,” he said, chuckling. “It’s actually a problem.”

She made a face at him and pulled the jumper on, struggling to find the right holes in that sea of wool. By the time she’d managed it her hair was a lost cause, and she tossed it back impatiently, looking down at herself.She snorted. There was more jumper than Fleur.

Bill began to say something, but she interrupted him.

“I need a _miroir_ ,” she declared, not even bothering to try to pronounce the English word as she made for their bedroom. Bill followed her wordlessly, but she could hear him trying to contain his laughter.

Her reflection looked _ridiculous_.

That was the first thing that came to mind when she saw herself in the full-length mirror. The jumper looked enormous on her: it was far too wide, it hung well below her waist, and the sleeves fell all the way down to her fingertips. She felt positively tiny in it, so she squared her shoulders and raised an eyebrow at herself, trying to look regal. It didn’t work.

Bill hugged her from behind again, grinning at their reflection. “Merlin, you look beautiful.” He kissed her on the cheek.

“My ‘air is a mess,” she complained. A few silvery strands were sticking out at odd angles.

“And that just makes you look even more beautiful.” 

They gazed at each other in the mirror, and Bill’s smile slowly faded as his expression turned pensive. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his fiery hair tickling her cheek and his weight making them on the spot slightly. “You _do_ look good in it, you know,” he said after a while, watching her with a look that she couldn’t identify. “It suits you.”

“Mmm?” She gave him a teasing smile. “Per’aps I shall steal it.”

But that didn’t snap him out of whatever thoughts he was lost in. “Maybe you won’t have to,” he said quietly.

“Oh? You are giving it to me? _T’es très généreux, ma cerise_.”

He didn’t play along. In fact, he didn’t do or say anything at all, and as the silence stretched on Fleur grew increasingly bewildered. Was something wrong? Had she somehow upset or offended him? She opened her mouth to ask if he was all right, but he beat her to it.

“Maybe you’ll get one too,” he said abruptly.

She stared at his reflection, nonplussed. “What?”

“A jumper. Maybe you’ll get one this year.” He swallowed and straightened up, turning her around so that they were face to face. He met her gaze for a moment before looking away, reaching up a hand to touch his fang earring. With a jolt of surprise, Fleur realised that he was _nervous_ —the last time she’d seen him like that had been before their first kiss.

“Bill?” she prodded gently.

He took a deep breath, as if to prepare himself. “You see, I’ve been thinking…”

“Yes?”

“We’ve been dating for a while, yeah?” he began, taking her hands and looked deep into her eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. “And if it’s up to me then we’ll be dating for _another_ while. A long while. So I was thinking… Maybe it’s time you met my family? Now, just before the holidays? Before you go to France?”

It took a moment for the words to make sense to her.  “Your… family?”

“Yeah. Only if you want to, though. And not in a  _serious_ way. Not yet.” He squeezed her hands gently and gave her a tentative smile. “It’s just that they mean a lot to me, and _you_ mean a lot to me, so I thought…”

It made sense, Fleur supposed. She’d seen his mother and most of his siblings from afar shortly before the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, and she’d even spoken to his youngest brother briefly, but she didn’t _know_ them. What she did know, however, was that Bill loved his family with his whole heart, so it was only natural that he wanted to introduce her to them. It was  _important_ to him. He wanted her to be a part of it, to get her own Weasley jumper and feel closer to them. He wanted to take the first step in a new direction.

And she realised that she wanted that too.

“Bill, _of course_ I would like to meet them,” she said, smiling back at him. 

He looked immensely relieved, as if he’d genuinely though she would say no. “Okay, then. Great.” He beamed at her.

_Ridiculous boy_.

“You worry about so many silly things,” she said fondly.

“I think it was justified in this case,” he protested. “This is a big thing, and you come from a very small family, whereas _my_ family is… Well. Fair warning: it’s huge, loads of siblings—but you already knew that.”

“Yes,” she said, watching in amused exasperation as he started to get worked up again.

They’re alright, especially Ron and Charlie,” he went on, speaking faster now, “but you know Fred and George like to mess around a lot, and Ginny’s a bit of a firecracker, and Percy…” His expression turned sombre for a second, but he carried on, “Well, the point is, meeting them all at once might be a bit… daunting.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Bill, what was I doing ze first time you saw me?”

“Fighting off a great bloody dragon like it was nothing.” There was a glimmer of pride in his blue eyes, and she found it immensely satisfying.

“And is your family more frightening zan a…” She struggled to remember the expression he’d used. “A ‘great bloody dragon’?”

“Nah.” He grinned at her. “Well, not _usually_ , but you should see Mum when she’s in a temper, she makes Hungarian Horntails look tame.”

“She sounds like an interesting woman, your mother.”

“She is.” He squeezed her hands again. “And she’ll be thrilled to have another girl in the family—it'll make her Christmas.”

“Even if she ‘as to make one more jumper?”

“That’s not a problem—she’ll love it. And she’ll love _you_ , just wait.”

“Zen I will be ‘appy to meet ‘er and everyone else.” She tucked a stray lock of red hair behind his ear. “ _Pas de stress_ ,” she chided gently.

He took that hand and kissed the back of it before lacing their fingers together again. “Fine, no stress. And now that _that_ is out of the way… Can I have my jumper back, please?”

She smirked. “ _Non_ , zis is mine now. Until I get one for me.”

“You’ve already nicked two of my shirts, love.”

“Is it my fault zat zey look better on me?”

“This is all part of some elaborate scheme, isn’t it? You’re going to slowly steal my clothes until I have to walk around shirtless.”

“ _Peut-être_.”

And there they were again, smiling playfully at each other, knowing how this was going to end. Before Bill could back out for a second time, Fleur turned and walked over to her dresser, pulling off the Weasley jumper along the way. She folded it slowly, methodically, very aware of Bill’s eyes on her and enjoying every second of it. When she was done and the jumper was tucked away in a drawer, she made her way over to their bed and gracefully sat on it, crossing one leg over the other. She tossed back her long silvery hair and met Bill’s gaze.

And she waited.

He was able to resist her for a full ten seconds.

“Merlin, you’re bloody impossible,” he groaned, but he didn’t seem too torn up about it as he closed the space between them with just a couple of strides. She barely had time to grin victoriously before he pulled her up, his lips finding hers, and all rational thought fled from her mind as she kissed him back just as hungrily, pressing herself against him and burying her hands in his hair.

They didn’t leave their room all morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and/or comments would be appreciated!! It's the first time I've written this ship and I'd love to write them again, so please let me know what you thought!
> 
> And I just want to point out that my French is (sadly) not perfect, so there might be a couple of mistakes here. If you spot any, please tell me!!
> 
> Thank you for reading ❤️
> 
> Tumblr: per-mare-ad-astra  
> Twitter: @astoriamalfoys


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